


We're Up All Night For Good Fun (We're Up All Night To Get Lucky)

by shellfishDimes



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking Games, Hide and Seek, M/M, POV Multiple, Pre-Canon, Pre-Game(s), Spin the Bottle, Trapped In A Closet, Truth or Dare, Underage Drinking, just teens being youths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellfishDimes/pseuds/shellfishDimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Those are the rules, aren't they?" Mike says. He takes a quick look at Emily, who takes another drink, shrugging like it's none of her concern who Mike does or doesn't kiss. "Sure, I'll do it. I mean, Josh, if I <i>had</i> to pick a dude..." He leaves the sentence hanging in the air and raises his eyebrows suggestively at Josh, and there it is again — the smile is back on Josh's face, spreading into a grin that shows his laugh lines.</p><p>"Ugh, finally," Jess says. "Honestly, you expect girls will make out with each other for guys' attention, but when it comes to two guys making out for <i>us</i>, it's like, <i>Ooh, no, I'll get my man card revoked!</i> It's ridiculous."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Up All Night For Good Fun (We're Up All Night To Get Lucky)

**Author's Note:**

> the way mike acts towards other guys in the game (specifically matt and josh), implying that he wants to make out/have sex with them and then no-homoing out of it at the speed of light made me think, what if this isn't just shitty writing? what if class pres mike munroe is actually bisexual? and then this happened. 
> 
> for [kels](http://olsnaggletooth.tumblr.com/), partner-in-headcanons.

"Spin the Bottle," Chris says. He taps the empty Coke bottle on the kitchen counter.

Josh laughs into his cup, mid-swig, almost spilling his drink down his shirt. "Really, man? I just cracked this open," he complains, picking up the whiskey bottle from the counter and showing its label to Chris. "You know what this is?"

"Uh," Chris tries, despite the fact that his only expertise when it comes to alcohol is knowing how to open a beer bottle without an opener, "whiskey?"

" _Jeremiah Cragg,_ " Josh says. "Four hundred a bottle." He cracks a wide grin. "That means it gets you drunk twice as fast as the cheaper kind. We're not playing Spin the Bottle until I'm at least halfway through this bad boy."

"Aw, come on, dude, it'll be fun! Look, I've got a plan," says Chris. "We arrange it so that Ashley sits opposite me, so that when it's my turn to spin— bam!" He points both index fingers at Josh, winking. "Kissing time!"

"Really?" Josh says, incredulous. "That's your plan on finally taking Ashley to Pound Town?"

"It's a _great_ plan," Chris insists. "A fucking foolproof plan." He taps the bottle on the counter again, for emphasis. "For foolproof fucking."

"Ooooh," Josh says, sounding impressed. His expression betrays him, though, and Chris can see he's trying really hard not to laugh, "is that a line you're gonna use on Ashley?"

"Hey, if I'm lucky, I'll get to use more than that on her," Chris says and winks in such an overly lecherous way it makes Josh raise his eyebrows. Chris falters, face falling. "My— my dick. I'm talking about my dick," he tries to explain, looking unsure all of a sudden. "That's a terrible joke, isn't it?"

Josh shrugs. "Pretty bad, but hey, if you're lucky, you'll be using your mouth for something other than talking." He pats Chris' shoulder reassuringly. "I believe in you, Cochise," he says, and Chris feels better about it already. "Okay then, come on. Let's play Spin the Bottle."

  


* * *

  


"I don't know if I'm okay with this," Beth says, once they've moved the table out of the way and are all sitting in a circle on the floor. "I mean, I'm related to two people in this circle, in case you guys didn't notice. I'm not kissing my twin sister."

"Not even once, for the camera?" asks Matt, pointing the video camera he'd been waving around the entire night at Beth's face.

"Pervert!"

"No, hey, it's fine, it's fine," Josh says, holding a placatory hand up. "Matt, don't be gross. We'll just switch places and it'll be okay. Beth, swap with Chris and come sit next to me."

"We could have just played truth or dare, you know," Sam leans over to whisper in Josh's ear. Josh watches Chris go and sit in the spot Beth just vacated between Emily and Jessica. It puts him directly opposite Ashley, just as they'd planned.

"I don't know why you're complaining," Josh whispers back. "you're sitting opposite Jess."

"Believe me, she doesn't swing that way," Sam says, sounding disappointed. Josh wants to ask her if she knows that from experience, but he's pretty sure all he'd get for his trouble would be an eyeroll and a snort. As Sam's best friend, Hannah gets all the stories about her girlfriends and crushes. The best Josh can do is rib Sam about it.

"Aw, Sammy, don't worry," Josh says, knocking his shoulder against hers affectionately. "I'll find you a princess to kiss."

That _does_ get him a snort. "You? You're worse with girls than _Chris,_ " says Sam.

"I don't have to be good with girls to play Spin the Bottle," he tells her. "Okay, are we ready to do this?" he says, louder, to the room.

"Hang on, we need something to set the mood," Jess says. She whips her phone out, and after a couple of quick swipes, it starts loudly playing a song which Josh recognises as _Get Lucky_ even before Jess begins to shimmy her shoulders and mouth along to the words.

"Hey, nice one," he says. He takes the empty Coke bottle and puts it in the middle of the circle. "Okay, since it's my house—"

"Hey!" Beth says at the same time that Hannah says, "It's our house too!"

"Since I'm the eldest Washington," Josh corrects himself, "I get to go first." He lays the bottle on its side.

"Fine, but I'm going next," says Beth.

Josh shrugs. "Fine by me."

It's all chance, but some of it's luck, and Josh likes to believe he's lucky when it comes to these things, if nothing else. He twists his wrist just so, and the bottle begins its spin around the circle, sound of the plastic softly clattering against the smooth, hardwood floor almost inaudible thanks to Daft Punk. Down the circle from him he sees Chris' lips pressed tightly together, eyes fixed on the bottle. 

_Chris and Ashley,_ Josh prays silently, _Chris and Ashley, come on, come on, come on..._

The bottle slows, and then stops. Jess shrieks delightedly, Matt's camera goes up to his grinning face, and Josh looks down the bottle that's pointed straight at him, and at Mike on the other end.

  


* * *

  


Jess' shriek is louder even than _Get Lucky._ "Ooh, bet you didn't expect _that,_ Josh!" she says.

"Didn't expect it? Please," Emily snorts. "He probably staged this whole thing so this could happen." She takes a sip from her cup, and looks at Josh in a way that she no doubt thinks is sympathetic. "Listen, Josh, that's cute, but I'm sorry to break it to you — Mike is playing for the other team. _My_ team, alright? So—"

"Relax, Em, it's just a game," says Mike. He hears the whirr of Matt's camera in his right ear as Matt zooms in on his face. He pointedly doesn't look in that direction. With how much Matt's had to drink, it's a small miracle he can hold the camera steady. 

"Hey, man, I didn't do this on purpose," says Josh, and the way his wide eyes are even wider and his usually ever-present smile is gone, Mike believes him. "If you're uncomfortable, I can just spin it again."

"Or just peck him on the cheek, that's allowed too," Ashley offers.

"Aw, hell no!" Jess says. "Tongues or nothing!"

But Josh is still looking at Mike, waiting for his okay. And Mike doesn't want to look like a coward — or worse, be the uptight jerk who refused to kiss his friend in a stupid game of Spin the Bottle, just because his friend is also a dude.

"Those are the rules, aren't they?" Mike says. He takes a quick look at Emily, who takes another drink, shrugging like it's none of her concern who Mike does or doesn't kiss. "Sure, I'll do it. I mean, Josh, if I _had_ to pick a dude..." He leaves the sentence hanging in the air and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at Josh, and there it is again — the smile is back on Josh's face, spreading into a grin that shows his laugh lines.

"Ugh, finally," Jess says. "Honestly, you expect girls will make out with each other for guys' attention, but when it comes to two straight guys making out for _us_ , it's like, _Ooh, no, I'll get my man card revoked!_ It's ridiculous."

"Uh, Jess, you know I'm— you know I'm gay, right?" Josh says. 

"Yeah, dude, he told us like, a couple of months ago," Chris says, sounding borderline insulted that Jess didn't remember something that important about his best friend. "Where were you?"

"Getting a thousand followers on Instagram, duh," says Jess. "Anyway, I know _that,_ I was just saying. Double standards." She sticks her tongue out at Chris, who rolls his eyes. She taps her phone, and _Get Lucky_ is replaced with the opening riff to _Michael_.

"Seriously?" Emily says. "Franz Ferdinand? Is it 2004 again?"

Mike groans. "Thanks, Jess."

"Just providing the soundtrack," says Jess. "Okay, you can kiss him now."

Mike moves towards the centre of the circle. He rests back on his heels, hands on his knees. There's butterflies in his stomach, which is weird, because it's _Josh,_ and it's not like he hasn't kissed roughly a thousand different girls before, Emily only being the last of them. Surely, kissing another guy shouldn't be any different.

He hears Matt zoom his camera again. _Okay, Mikey,_ he thinks, _time for your close-up._

"Pucker up, buttercup," he says, and kisses Josh.

He closes his eyes almost immediately, because it's what you do, and besides, only creeps kiss with their eyes open. But in the split second that his eyes stay open, he gets a flash of green from Josh's eyes, maybe the hint of a smile, and then Josh's lips are against his. He opens his mouth, and then Josh's _tongue_ is against his.

And yeah, okay, maybe it's not like kissing a girl, not entirely, because Josh tastes like whiskey and smells like spicy deodorant, a distinctly _guy_ smell and taste. But the way he kisses is soft, careful, like he might scare Mike off if he did it any other way, like there aren't eight other drunk people in the room. 

And yeah, okay, maybe Mike likes it. Maybe he likes it more than he expected. He _definitely_ likes it more than a dude in a happy relationship with a girl should.

When they break apart, everyone starts whooping and clapping, even Emily, although hers is more of a slow, sarcastic clap. Matt actually slaps him on the back, panning the camera around the room to get everyone's reaction. 

"Hell yeah," Mike says. "Mike Munroe, still the best kisser in the gang."

Josh raises his eyebrows, rolling his eyes, but as he does, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips until he's grinning, the kind of grin that seems to say, _You wish._ Next to Josh, Sam notices Mike looking, and he throws her a saucy wink for good measure until she laughs, shaking her head at how ridiculous she probably thinks he is.

Beth spins the bottle, and the butterflies spin in Mike's stomach.

He takes a long, long drink until they stop, and his head starts to spin.

  


* * *

  


And so it goes — Beth kisses Ashley, and then Emily kisses Mike. It's cute in a kind of a painful way to see Chris almost cheering the bottle on when it's his turn to spin it, but it slides just past Ashley and stops at Hannah, and _that_ kiss is the source of the most second-hand embarrassment yet, and Sam is relieved when it's over. Then it's Hannah's turn to get kissed again, this time by Jessica, and then Matt kisses Emily, and Mike kisses Emily _again,_ at which point Chris loudly tells everyone that the game is rigged, the bottle has been hacked and that he's not playing anymore. 

"Even better," says Ashley, "I didn't want to get your cooties anyway!"

The circle breaks apart. Jess goes to the kitchen to cut up limes for tequila shots — a thought that makes Sam's stomach lurch in advance — leaving her phone plugged into some decent speakers and on shuffle in her absence. Beth and Ashley start gathering up all the unused cups and stacking them up into a pyramid, chatting together and arguing which cup should go where. 

Mike takes Emily's hand and leads her into the dining room, probably for a good long make out session. Less conspicuous than taking her up the stairs, Sam guesses, but it still makes Hannah's shoulders sag when she sees them. She gets up to take a book from the shelf, and then sits back down closer to Beth and Ashley, the book open on her lap but mostly ignored. Sam feels like she should talk to her, because she's been hopelessly glancing in Mike's direction all night, but she decides to leave it, for now, to give Hannah time to mellow out. Instead, she goes to join Josh, who's standing by the drinks table and pouring himself a generous helping of whiskey.

"Whoa there, easy," she says, taking a cup for herself. "You're going to be zonked out way before everyone else if you carry on like that."

Josh laughs, taking another cup and filling that one generously too. "No way! If I'm going, I'm taking Chris down with me," he says. 

Sam looks over to Chris. He's sulking in a chair, nursing his beer and fiddling with his phone. "Plan didn't work, huh?"

"Could've gone better," agrees Josh. "I'm hopeful, though. He'll definitely hold her hand within the next year. Maybe he'll even get to first base."

Sam laughs, shaking her head. "I wish they'd just get on with it," she says. "They'd be adorable together."

"Do you think he'll grow a pair if I give him enough whiskey?" asks Josh.

"No, I think you'll _both_ be passed out, Josh," says Sam, reaching for the orange juice.

"I'm okay with that," says Josh, raising his cup to her before taking a long sip. More of a guzzle, really, Sam thinks. 

"Your funeral," she says. She takes the bottle of vodka and pours a small amount into her orange juice, just enough to give it a kick. "I'm pacing myself," she explains.

"With a screwdriver? I don't know, Sam, you're pretty tiny," says Josh, and his hands are already going around her waist to pinch her where he knows she's ticklish, "you sure you can handle that? Huh, Sam?" he says, and he starts tickling her in earnest. "Are you ready for it?"

Sam squeals, wriggling out of his grip. The vodka splashes out of the bottle and onto her hands. "Josh!"

"Need any help cleaning that off?" Josh asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. "I'm pretty good with my tongue." Sam shoves him with a groan, laughing despite herself. "It's true!" Josh says, trying to defend himself. "Just ask the class president!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, shaking droplets of vodka from her fingertips, "I'll definitely ask him for a full report. Ugh, gross, my hands are all sticky." Josh opens his mouth, but she raises a hand quickly. "Don't! I know what you're going to say, and do _not_ go there, Josh!" He grins, but listens to her. "But that was weird. I mean, it wasn't just me. There was definitely a..." She pauses, looking for the right word. "Vibe."

"A vibe?" Josh echoes. The way she keeps her sticky, wet hands away from her body makes him say, "I'll grab you a tissue from the kitchen, relax. What vibe?"

"Like... The kind of vibe you don't get from a straight guy who's kissing another guy on a dare," Sam says. She puts the vodka bottle back down, twisting the cap closed, and then turns to face Josh again, leaning against the table. "The kind of vibe you get from someone who's kissing someone else and figuring some stuff out."

"Hang on," says Josh. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking at Sam, uncertain. "What are you saying?"

"Like, okay," Sam starts, "I know it's different for everyone, but one of the defining moments of my life was when I realised how _good_ it felt to be kissing girls." She shrugs. "Before, when I used to think I was into guys, kissing was a hassle and... Kinda gross?" Josh start laughing, but Sam shakes her head. "No, no, listen. Then I kissed a girl for the first time, and it was like, it's like this? _This_ is what it's like? Are you _kidding_ me? I'm never kissing a guy again!"

"I don't think that's what it is," says Josh carefully. "I mean, have you seen the way Mike and Emily play tonsil hockey?" He grins, almost a leer.

"I'm not saying Mike's had a huge gay awakening, Josh," says Sam. "Just... His interests may be wider than he thought."

It isn't unheard of, after all. Experimenting is how a lot of people figure out their sexuality, Sam thinks, her included. Hell, she and Josh even tried to make out once, way back when, just because everyone thought they should date and because Josh kept casually flirting with her. They couldn't kiss for more than twelve seconds without laughing, though, so they decided it was a much better idea if they just stayed good friends. Several weeks after that, Sam started going out with her first ever official girlfriend, and several months after _that,_ Josh had made a vlog for everyone where he said that yeah, actually, girls? Not so much. Boys? All the way. He continued to flirt with Sam to this day, though, and as long as it made Sam laugh, he probably wouldn't stop.

So yes, just because Mike can barely keep it in his pants when it comes to girls, that doesn't mean it _stops_ at girls, just that he might not have considered any other gender. Until now, Sam guesses, if the look on Mike's face after he and Josh kissed is anything to go on.

Josh blinks at her owlishly, several times, and then takes a drink. He swallows the whiskey, scrunching up his eyes and making a disgusted face because of the burn of the alcohol. "I mean," he starts, sounding confused. He shakes his head, deciding against saying whatever he was going to say. Instead, he downs the rest of his drink, probably to kill the remainder of his taste buds. "I hope he and Emily have fun with that. But, listen," he says, and then he's next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders, "here's my plan for tonight: get Sam tissues, maybe play some more games, get _shitfaced_ with Chris, pass out. How's that sound?"

Sam laughs, leaning into him and patting his thigh. "I'll make sure the barf bucket is close by for that last part," she says.

"That's my girl!"

  


* * *

  


"This is a really bad idea," says Ashley. She trails after Chris as he switches off all the lights, closing all the doors behind them as they pass through the house. She stops for a moment, gripping the wall until she doesn't feel like she'll fall over any longer and her tunnel vision is a bit more under control. "Everyone is _sooo_ druuunk," she says, stretching out the vowels. 

"Exactly, that's why it'll be great!" Chris says. "Huge house, ten drunk people, reverse hide and seek!"

"You... you mean Sardines, right?" Ashley says, now unsure if it's tunnel vision from the tequila shots she had with Beth and Jess, or if it's the house that's getting darker. It's probably both, she decides, gripping the handrail a bit tighter as she and Chris walk down the stairs.

"Sardines, that's what I said," says Chris.

Ashley snorts a laugh. "That's _totally_ not what you said. You're drunk, go to bed."

"Hey, maybe I'll hide in bed and when you find me, you'll have to squeeze next to me," says Chris, making Ashley's stomach flip. And this time, she knows it's not because of the tequila. She just wishes he'd do _something_ about it.

"Maaaybe," she says. She keeps her eyes on the stairs, but hopes Chris sees her smile. And she wishes _she'd_ do something about it other than just throw vague hints and even more vague expressions in his direction. She curses the Coke bottle for stopping at the wrong people. It feels like everything is conspiring against her — not just the Coke bottle, but the tequila which got her drunk enough to be very careful where she's putting her feet, but not drunk enough to make a move on Chris, like she should have done ages ago.

At least she's successfully navigated the stairs, she thinks, thanking her inner ear for doing its job despite overwhelming odds.

"What's up, peanut gallery," says Josh, spreading his arms to welcome them back to the group. "Got all the lights?"

"All the lights and all the doors!" says Chris, saluting. 

"Awesome, knew I could count on you," says Josh. "We ready to roll out?"

"Ready!"

And now this, because bad things come in threes. One moment Ashley was licking salt off her hand and slamming back her fourth? — fifth? seventh? — tequila shot, and the next Hannah had come in from somewhere else in the house, delighted, and said that everyone was going to play Sardines and that they should put the tequila down and join in. It's all fine for Hannah, who spends every winter at the lodge and knows all its nooks and crannies, but now that they're actually about to start, Ashley isn't actually looking forward to poking through a huge, scary house in the middle of the night with only a vague idea of where she is and what's waiting for her around the next corner.

They're all standing outside in the softly falling snow and bitter cold — what Chris delightedly calls _bracing_ and she wants to slap his dweeby glasses off and then kiss him to shut him up — when she brings it up.

"Can we at least use flashlights, Josh? Or our phones or something?" she asks, trying to get the words out as quickly as she can before her teeth start to chatter. The alcohol blanket Beth was talking about is a total myth, she thinks. "I don't want to break anything while walking in the dark. Like my neck."

Josh shrugs. "Sure, if it makes you feel better," he says. "But only when it's absolutely necessary. You don't want to ruin the game, do you?"

"Honestly, I just want to get back inside," admits Ashley. "It's _freezing._ " She pulls her beanie on tighter and rubs her arms for emphasis. "So, who's going to be the first Sardine?"

"Can I suggest that it's not the Washingtons?" Sam offers. "No offence, guys, but you know the house too well. It would take forever to find you."

"Can't argue with that," says Beth.

"Who's going first, then?" Jess asks. Ashley notes, with just a hint of jealousy, that she doesn't look or sound half as drunk as Ashley herself feels, even though they had the same amount of tequila shots. But then, she's used to partying far more than Ashley is.

"Let's Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock it," says Chris.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't speak Huge Nerd," says Emily. "What does that mean?"

"Uh, it's like Rock Paper Scissors, but with a lizard and Spock, clearly?" says Chris. He mimes out his fingers and thumb snapping together like jaws at _lizard,_ and does the Vulcan salute as he says _Spock._

"Oh, like in that Zachary Quinto movie, right," says Emily, nodding.

"What?" Chris looks genuinely offended at this. "No, dude, it's— it's Leonard Nimoy, come on—"

"I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about, Chris," says Emily.

"Well, they both played Spock, so you're both right," says Mike. Probably trying to diffuse the situation before Emily starts an argument about how she's always right, Ashley thinks. "So how does this work, Chris?"

"Okay, so," Chris says, getting into his element, "Vanilla rules, and then, pay attention. Rock crushes lizard, lizard poisons Spock, Spock smashes scissors—"

"Why?" Jess asks.

"What?"

"Why does Spock smash the scissors?" she asks. "I can't do that! And I have pretty good upper arm strength."

"Well, yeah, but you're not a powerful alien. He is," Chris tells her. "Anyway, scissors decapitate lizard, lizard eats paper, paper disproves Spock—"

"That doesn't make sense!" Jess says. "Isn't he some super nerdy space science guy? Why does he lose to paper?"

"Because— hang on, you've seen _Star Trek_?"

"Uh, yeah, so?" Jess says. "I got stoned with some dudes at a party and we watched that one movie with the whales." _The Voyage Home,_ Ashley's mind supplies, and she remembers when she went to see it at the cinema with Chris as part of some _Star Trek_ marathon or other, and spent the entire time wondering if it was a date and if she should have worn something nicer. "Spock might have terrible fashion sense," Jess says, "but he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd lose to a piece of paper."

"That's— I don't— that's just how the rules go, Jess," says Chris. "I didn't make them up."

"I just—"

"Wow, holy _Christ,_ you're all a bunch of huge nerds," Mike says. "Fine, I'll be the Sardine, if that's what it takes to get us back into the house."

"Finally, someone steps up," Emily says.

"You'd better find me first, babe," Mike tells Emily, winking at her, before he's almost running back towards the front door.

"There's a flashlight next to the umbrella stand," Beth shouts after him.

"Don't need it!" Mike shouts back, and he's already closing the door behind him. For a couple of seconds, Ashley hears his footsteps pounding as he runs away, and then they fade to nothing.

"Hurry up if you want to beat Emily to the punch," Sam whispers to Hannah, who shushes her, panicked, but not fast enough for Ashley not to catch it. 

"Okay, so we give him a minute and then we go in, right?" Beth asks. She has her phone out, ready to start the stopwatch.

"Maybe a bit more than a minute," says Jess, sounding disgusted. "I think Matt went to throw up in a bush." She screws up her face at the sound of retching that's coming from way too close by. Ashley's throat constricts in sympathy.

"Yup," says Ashley, trying to be louder than the sounds of Matt chucking out the chips and dip they all had earlier, "definitely more than a minute."

  


* * *

  


Mike runs through the dark, empty lodge, trying his best to remember where things are. His heart almost stops when he sees one of Josh's dad's hunting trophies peering at him out of the dark, and he bangs his toe on the side of a table. Hopping on one foot and swearing under his breath, he's incredibly glad there's nobody there to see him. He checks the fluorescent hands on his watch and realises he's rapidly running out of seconds before they come looking for him.

Giving his foot one last shake to get rid of the pain, Mike considers his options. Hiding in the basement is absolutely out of the question — that's the first place they'd look. The dining room is too open, and there's nowhere in the kitchen he can hide without being discovered in the first two seconds of someone walking in. So he heads upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

On the landing, he heads right, straight towards where he remembers the master bedroom to be from when Josh gave them a tour of the lodge. The door swings inwards almost soundlessly, whispering against the soft carpet. In the gloom Mike can make out a large bed, matching bedside tables, a chaise longue and, yes — the door to the walk-in closet. 

He checks his watch. Fifteen seconds to go.

He twists the doorknob and pulls the walk-in closet door open, and honestly, he knows that the Washingtons are filthy rich — they bought a _mountain,_ for God's sake — but the level of luxury they have at their disposal still sometimes amazes him. The walk-in closet is almost the size of Mike's room at home — almost, but slightly bigger. He runs his fingers across Mr Washington's jackets, wondering which ones he wore to movie premieres.

He passes Mrs Washington's dresses, pressed shirts and designer shoes smelling of fabric softener and new money, and then he sees the thing he was looking for, a hulking shape darker than the darkness around it. It's a wardrobe, but really, _armoire_ might be a more fitting word since it looks ancient, expensive, and big enough to contain the entrance to Narnia. 

He climbs inside it and closes the heavy mahogany doors after himself. If he thought it was dark before, it's nothing compared to what it's like now. He holds his hands up in front of his face, and the only thing he can see is the tiny, slowly fading glow of his watch. Having no light source to draw from, soon the watch is in darkness too, and Mike can see nothing at all.

He leans against a fur coat, and waits. There aren't that many clothes in the wardrobe with him, mostly winter coats, and Mike is grateful for that because he isn't entirely sure that he isn't claustrophobic, and he doesn't particularly want to find out tonight. The fur coat is soft on his hands and on the back of his neck, and sure, he rubs his face in it, just a little bit, because nobody is there to see him, and who knows if he'll ever get to rub his face on an animal that died for the sake of fashion again? He hopes that whatever the coat is made of, it had a good life.

He reaches out his hand to feel the back of the wardrobe, thinking that he wouldn't be in the least bit surprised if he felt snow and pine branches instead of a wood panel, but no, his knuckles touch just regular, boring wood. So there's no Narnia, but the wardrobe is still enormous to Mike's standards — he can easily imagine it accommodating at least three other people, four if they are pressed really close and really like each other. Mike really hopes Emily finds him first, because he'd love to finish what he started when they kissed in the dining room. Sure, making out in a closet in the middle of a game of Sardines isn't what anyone, least of all Emily, would exactly call romantic, but Mike really, _really_ hopes that the fact it's an armoire, and probably an antique, wins her over.

And then, there's the unmistakable sound of the bedroom door opening — and then, the sound of someone trying really hard not to make any noise while walking. 

Mike holds his breath.

He then realises he can't hold his breath without having to very loudly _stop_ holding his breath, so he breathes out through his nose, slowly and carefully.

There's a click and a slide as the handle on the walk-in closet door is twisted, and the door is pulled open. Mike is very aware of his heart beating in his chest, and no amount of his brain telling him that _it's just Sardines, stupid,_ makes it calm down.

He hopes it's Emily.

If it's not Emily, he hopes that whoever it is gives up and goes away. 

A tiny sliver of light penetrates the darkness of Mike's hiding place. The light from a phone. The sliver gets wider and brighter as whoever is on the other side opens the armoire door.

The light is absolutely blinding, and Mike squints, trying to make out the person holding the phone. 

"Found anything?" Sam's voice comes from further off, probably the hallway outside the bedroom.

Suddenly, the light is lowered, and Mike can almost see again.

 _Emily?_ he thinks.

He blinks, and as his eyes adjust to the sudden light, he looks straight up into Josh's face.

Josh turns his head just slightly away from him so he can shout, "Nothing here, Sam!" 

"Let's keep looking!"

 _What?_ Mike mouths. Josh pinches his thumb and forefinger together and swipes them across his own lips, mimicking zipping them up. 

And then he closes the armoire door on Mike.

"What the _fuck?_ " Mike hisses at the wood now only a couple of inches from his face. He swears that he hears Josh chuckle to himself, very quietly, before he hears the walk-in closet door snap shut too.

Mike leans back against the fur coat, forcefully expelling breath through his nose and definitely, definitely not at all sulking because Josh just left him. He wishes he'd hid in the kitchen after all, or at least quickly grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the fridge before hiding somewhere else. The buzz he had from earlier is still definitely there, but he would still like to have the option to top up when he wants to. 

He takes out his phone, considering sexting Emily so she looks harder and finds him faster, and the realisation that there isn't, and never has been, any phone reception at the lodge hits him at about the same time as the light from his phone screen when he unlocks it and he sees _no service_ written where the signal bars should be. 

He tries to beat his high score on Flappy Bird and dies seven times before he decides that he's definitely too drunk for something like that and gives up, frustrated. He flicks through the photos he took tonight, checking them in reverse order. A blurry shot of Matt vaulting over the kitchen island. A selfie Jess took of her and Emily with duck faces made out of Pringles. Another selfie Mike took of the ten of them trying to squeeze, cheek to drunken cheek, into the frame and failing hilariously. A photo of Sam and Ashley lying sprawled over each other on the couch, the joint sticking out of Sam's mouth in the process of being lit by Josh, his hands the only thing visible in the shot. And last, an Instagram-ready shot of Beth, Hannah and Josh sitting in front of the cup pyramid, each wearing an upside-down red cup on their heads. Beth and Josh are both pulling faces, and Hannah is sitting between them, a huge smile on her face. Mike wonders why, and then remembers — he'd asked her to smile. No, actually — the exact words he'd used were _smile, gorgeous_. Mike grins to himself, shaking his head. Honestly, Hannah's hopeless crush on him was kind of adorable.

He hears the walk-in closet door drag along the carpet as it's pulled open for the second time. His whole body tenses up.

He quickly switches his phone off, praying that they didn't see the light from his phone through the crack between the armoire doors. Mike has to admit to himself that he's just a little bit freaked out that he didn't even hear the bedroom door open this time around. Whoever it is, they must be really good at sneaking.

There's a light tap on the wood, and Mike closes his mouth, hoping he's breathing really, really quietly. He would very much like to hope it's Emily, but then, there's absolutely no way Emily would knock. Emily isn't the kind of person who rates subtlety high on her list of priorities. 

The armoire door opens without any additional ceremony.

It isn't Emily, which is as disappointing as it is expected. 

Instead, it's Josh, who smoothly slides into the wardrobe next to Mike like he's been hiding in there all his life, which is probably not far from the truth. In more ways than one, Mike thinks, and then winces at himself internally. If he'd told a joke as bad as that aloud, he doesn't doubt it would earn him a smack upside the head from Emily.

"Hey, help me close this," Josh tells Mike, and Mike obeys, too confused and stunned to do otherwise.

They pull the door closed together, and Mike manages not to trap his fingers in it in the very last second before it clicks shut.

And then it's back to darkness again. Mike whispers, "Why did you come back, dude?"

"It's how you play the game," says Josh, somewhere close. Mike's night vision still hasn't adjusted from looking at the phone and he can't quite see where Josh is, but it's close. The giant armoire seems much smaller than it was when it contained just Mike.

"How did you even find me that fast?"

At this, Josh chuckles. "It's my house, man. We used to play hide and seek all the time as kids. I know all the best spots," he says, not even bothering to whisper.

"Ssshhh," says Mike. "We have to be quiet," he warns.

Josh laughs, sounding close to a hysterical giggle. Mike understand why when he says, "Hey, I'm pretty wasted. That whiskey really hit the spot, you know?"

"I know, I know, I'm hammered, but," Mike tries again, "Ssshhh." Now that he's a bit better used to the dark, he can almost make out Josh standing in the dark in front of him, grinning. Because it seems like a good way to get Josh to shut up, he reaches across and puts a finger to where he thinks Josh's lips are. "Quiet."

His finger does meet Josh's lips, but it also almost slides up a nostril, and Josh laughs his nasal, dorky laugh. Some people yawn immediately if they see someone else yawning, even if they aren't tired at all. With Mike, this happens with laughter. It's a knee-jerk reaction, and he starts laughing along with Josh, like him almost sticking his finger into Josh's nose is the most hilarious thing that's happened, not just tonight, but in the entire history of the world combined.

Emily always says she feels how drunk she is when she's trying to use the bathroom, and Mike tends to agree that he's the same, except in certain circumstances when he realises that he's absolutely past the point of tipsy and firmly in almost-falling-over-drunk territory while hiding in an antique armoire during a game of Sardines.

And then Josh puts his whole palm over Mike's mouth, muffling his laughter, and he's close enough and Mike's night vision is sharp enough that he can see Josh soundlessly mouth: " _Don't. Move_."

Mike freezes, swallowing back his laugh.

He hears the footsteps then, just outside.

Josh's other hand is on his forearm, gripping it tightly, and Mike doesn't know if he wants whoever is out there to find them and join them or turn around and go away, because the way his heartbeat picks up and the way his stomach flutters is like the way he felt when Emily put his hands around her waist when he kissed her in the dining room and she smiled against his lips.

It's like the way he felt when he saw Josh's grin after he kissed him. 

There's a loud bump, and Mike almost jumps out of his skin, but Josh's grip on his forearm tightens and he forces himself to stay still.

The person outside swears under their breath and by the colourful vocabulary and tone of voice, Mike recognises Matt. Drunk Matt, who probably had more than all of them, but who can also hold his alcohol much better than any of them, except maybe Jess. Drunk Matt, who will probably decide that his attention span is too short for this and that he's too far away from a fresh bottle of beer right now, and head back downstairs in three... two...

The bedroom door closes again, and Mike can't help feeling smug. 

"Hey," says Josh, removing his hand from Mike's mouth. "Truth or dare?" He's whispering this time, and Mike is glad he decided to be more careful.

"Truth," Mike whispers back.

"Do you like scary movies?" Josh asks, and the way he says it isn't _Scream,_ it's _Scary Movie_ , an overly exaggerated croak that fills the small space they're in. 

Mike starts laughing, and he laughs so hard it almost brings on a hiccuping fit. "Jesus," he says, trying to catch his breath, "that's so bad. Why am I laughing? That's terrible!"

"Shhh, we have to be quiet!" Josh says, mimicking his voice, and it makes Mike laugh all the harder, because that's definitely not even close to what he sounds like, and Josh knows it and is totally doing it on purpose.

"Okay, okay," he says, still grinning over the sound of Josh trying to muffle his laughter and the fluttering in his stomach, "your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," says Josh, without a moment's hesitation.

"I dare you to kiss me."

He just blurts it out, and for a second the bottom of his stomach drops out. Hannah's crush on him is like the Great Wall of China in that everyone, _everyone_ knows it exists and it can be seen from space, and of all people, Josh is bound to have some issues with Mike wanting to kiss a Washington who isn't Hannah.

There's an itch of conscience at the back of Mike's mind telling him he'll feel awful about this when he sobers up because he cares about his girlfriend, he cares about Emily despite how demanding she can sometimes be. But then again, it's just kissing, another part of his mind supplies, and it's not like it's another girl — it's just Josh, and he just wants to try it out again, to see if it'll feel like it did the first time. So if it doesn't, he can forget about it, move on with his life.

And if it does, he has no idea what he'll do. 

"Really?" Josh asks. Not like he can't believe it, or like he's holding it against Mike. He asks like he's asking for confirmation. Like he wants to know if Mike is sure.

And hell, Mike isn't sure about a lot of things right now, but he's absolutely certain he's not letting something like that stop him. It never has before.

"I said, I dare you," Mike repeats. "You chickening out?"

Josh's mouth spreads into a lazy smirk that Mike can just see, and then he leans in, just as careful, just as slow as when they played Spin the Bottle. Mike feels Josh's breath on his lips, so he parts them and closes his eyes, even though it makes the least possible difference in the dark. Josh's lips are warm and his tongue is slow, lazy almost, like he wants to give himself time to find out how every detail about kissing Mike feels.

And Mike shows him. He pulls Josh closer, a hand tracing the line of Josh's jaw, sharper and squarer where Emily's is soft and round. He resolutely pushes Emily out of his mind, concentrating instead on how Josh tilts his head upwards at the gentlest touch of Mike's fingers on the back of his neck, how his lips are slightly chapped, and how, this close, his hair still smells like winter and snow from when he was outside.

It doesn't feel like it did the first time they kissed. 

As Josh's hands go to wrap around the small of Mike's back, as Mike's tongue slides against Josh's until Josh makes a noise so soft Mike feels it rather than hears it, as he opens his mouth wider to tug on Josh's lower lip with his lips, teeth just barely scraping his skin, it feels _better._

It's the most natural thing to slide down the zipper of Josh's sweater and to kiss down his jaw and along his neck. Josh turns his head, giving him better access. He breathes out softly, almost a sigh, when Mike slides his teeth against the line of his neck, following with his tongue. When Mike pushes his hand into his hair and makes him turn his head so that their tongues are against each other again, that sigh turns into something almost like a moan.

It travels right down to Mike's dick, and Josh's hands on the small of his back feel so hot they burn, and Mike really wishes they were further down, that Josh was grabbing his ass and—

"We have to be quiet," whispers Josh, stopping the kiss, pulling away just enough so he can say it.

And _holy shit,_ Mike thinks, _that sure is a semi happening down there right now._ He hopes Josh can't feel it, but Josh has probably, absolutely been with more guys than Mike has, and he knows exactly what's, as it were, up.

"What?"

"You were kind of... Loud," Josh says, and Mike notices his own heavy breathing.

"Sorry, I didn't— Sorry," he says. He pulls away, feeling very much like the moment has not just been killed, but assassinated.

"Hell of a dare, though, right?" Josh says, a grin in his voice. 

"Best truth or dare I've ever played, that's for sure," admits Mike, unable to help his own grin.

The armoire doors swing wide open, and Mike suddenly finds himself completely blinded by the light from a powerful flashlight and terrified when he hears, "You guys realise I can hear you talking from the hall?"

"Sam!"

The light lessens. Sam stands in front of them, hip cocked, arms crossed over her chest, an amused expression on her face. A flashlight is dangling from her fingers. "Josh," she says. "Hey, Mike." She looks him up and down, and as her eyebrows go up, her grin widens. Mike does his best to look as innocent as he possibly can in the circumstances. "Having fun?" 

"Get in here, Sam, we're hiding," Josh says, waving her over.

"Not anymore," says Sam. "We were looking for Mike, and Jess and Matt found some ping pong balls, so guess what's happening now."

"Beer pong," says Mike.

"Beer pong," confirms Sam, nodding. "You coming?" She gives Mike a very significant look. "Or are you—"

"No, no, we're coming," Mike cuts her off. He climbs out of the armoire, brushing past her quickly and trying to think of unsexy things as quickly as possible. Wet armpits on his dad's shirt when he comes in from work. Skin forming over hot milk. Emily's grandmother taking her false teeth out, and the sound they make.

"My hand-eye coordination significantly improves the drunker I get," Josh says confidently, climbing out after Mike. 

"Oh boy," says Sam, "I hope Matt gets that on camera." 

"Oh, I'll make sure he does," says Josh, his grin infectious, and Mike grins too, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: the great wall of china can't be seen from space. mike is kind of a dick, sometimes.


End file.
